Clockspring
by Black Waltz 0
Summary: Written for a tumblr writing prompt. Over half a century of cold calculated killing begins to weigh heavily on the mind of mordesh Agent Formaldehyde and he feels he is beginning to succumb, like the unwinding of a tightly coiled spring. Rated T for heavy gore and violence.


Clockspring

By Black Waltz 0

As the Dominion spy pelted down the halls of the XAS base in the north of Thayd, their cover blown by a stealth proximity mine and hoping raggedly that maybe they could make a sharp turn somewhere; maybe they could bust on through to Algoroc and fall out of detection from there, two shadowy figures gave chase.

"Damn it all…" The ICI operative muttered between gasps, counting down the seconds as he waited for his nanoskin to recharge. It felt like it was taking for bloody ever this time, he had only a very rudimentary idea of where he was headed, and the hounds on his heels were catching up. Fast.

A burst of gunfire exploded behind him as Ekaterine Kasavin leveled her flak cannon at the back of the spy in question, but he was only just barely shy of her range. He likely smelt the burst of plasma and heard the sizzle of the energy blanching the dye out of his standard-issue purple jacket, but he only picked up his pace. The clop-clop-clop of Eka's boots on the metal flooring was the only sound in the tunnel besides the ragged breathing and the scattered, helter-skelter life of Thayd beyond was protected and insulated by its walls.

Ekaterine skidded to a halt when she realized she wasn't going to be able to catch the man on her own. Her commlink clicked on with nary the need for another thought, tapping into the party communication channel she had organized earlier. "Agent Formaldehyde!" She ordered fast, her voice just as steely as the metal beneath her feet. "Apprehend the interloper immediately!"

At her command the empty space several paces in front of her shimmered into the outline of a man and then effortlessly leapt into the air, nanoskin melting away along a body in motion to reveal dark clothes and sleek metal; a short, thin blade held in one hand. "Copy that." He responded as he touched down again and swept an arm out to direct the range of his nano-field, collapsing the space between himself and the spy and pulling him backwards like a dagun on a chain.

The highborn cassian choked as he was yanked back as though by magnetism, trying to deploy a pounce by utilizing his own nanites to escape the field, but long gloved mordesh fingers were already groping for his shoulder and it held him back. The claws weren't out; thank Dominus for small favors, but still…

Ekaterine remained a good distance behind them from where she had stopped, holding her heavy cannon, her lovely ravaged face a mask of grim pragmatism. She started to walk towards them and through the commlink she told her comrade; "He must not be permitted to escape."

Formaldehyde held the struggling man back with only minimal effort. Dead flesh did not tire to the extent of the living; a small blessing in the depths of despair, he supposed. He raised the small thin Black Hood knife usually kept concealed beneath his uniform, shifting his grip upward to grasp the man's neck and bearded jaw, tilting it back gently to meet him, almost like the caress of a lover. The spy began to tremble. Perhaps his empire's propaganda had already spoken of what would come next, and he feared for his blood, his brain; his flesh? Time would soon tell.

"I find that '_head on a stick_' works well in these covert circumstances." He told Ekaterine at her approach, but mostly he was informing his new friend and soon-to-be plaything, well, until the Widow alighted down to claim her fair share. That thought made him smile.

"W-What?" The spy ground out with some difficulty, for the rotting freak restraining him had his fingers around his throat, clenched against his Adam's apple, but he was lifting him up high enough that his toes couldn't scrape the ground anymore.

Agent Formaldehyde demonstrated what he meant. His spare hand thrust out holding the knife and with astounding speed and the greatest of care he buried the blade halfway into the back of his captive's neck. It was like watching a serpent strike with its venom-laden fangs and then retreat; likewise the mordesh stalker slid the dagger out again just as quickly as it had come. The whole thing was over in less than a second.

The weapon wasn't even bloodied. He had punched it in with such surgical precision that he had slipped the metal between the bony vertebrae and nudged it under the jelly-filled disc, severing the spinal cord cleanly and just shy of puncturing the windpipe or the larynx. He felt the dommy scum tense up against his ravaged body and then go slack again, for the last time.

When he let the spy go the cassian's body crumpled down into a heap, as though all his strings had been cut. The man's bladder also released its contents at the same time but that was neither here nor there, and Ekaterine tactfully stepped around the spreading puddle as she reached her colleague's side.

She tutted disapprovingly as she regarded the shell-shocked, just beginning to moan pile of flesh at their feet. "Really Nikolai, must you? You do so overreact in the heat of the hunt. Now the Hoods will surely be hindered dissecting data from this errant spy." Ekaterine scolded.

"He can still provide if pressured, Eka. There are a myriad of methods to provoke pain from the neck upwards." Formaldehyde responded, gathering up the man again like the dead weight he was now ordained to become. It would only be a matter of time before he'd realize he couldn't move his arms. Or legs. Or anything at all.

He looked forward to seeing the flicker of helpless realization blossom in his eyes.

xxx

Scarcely an hour or two later, deep underground and far beneath the innocent surface veneer of the Black Hoods base in Thayd, the Dominion spy howled in uproarious pain.

Bloody, foamy spittle flew from his mouth and tangled in the whiskers of his beard while his lips were painted a darker shade of red, as though he were wearing the bright lipstick of a highborn cassian lady. He shrieked again through the bleeding hole in his face, past raw swelling gums devoid of both teeth and anesthetic.

Formaldehyde chuckled as he used a sterilized cloth to wipe the blood from the pliers in his hand. "Please pardon me," he purred to his captive, bound to the steel slab by leather cuffs even though his body was useless now, "but despite the hallmarks of my harrowed race I am _not_ a doctor. A shame, sadly. So sorry."

"'Gettin' a lot of good teeth out of 'im. Almost enough to put the tooth fairy into overtime." The actual Black Hoods surgeon commented from the sidelines, her arms folded as she was perfectly happy to stand back and watch. She smiled sweetly, her pretty face belying such requisite sadism. "Hey, let me check 'em out for gold fillings later and I can probably kajigger them into a nice set of dentures for grandpappy, too."

"By the Scions!" The ICI agent wailed, but the way his face was swelling up and his missing teeth caused him to slur the words, though the message was abundantly clear. "Monsterous exile scum… I shan't tell you anything!"

"'Seems to me like you don't have much of a choice now, mister." The surgeon replied almost casually, tilting her head to the side. She wasn't a torturer like the two mordesh she was working with today, but they could not rightfully interrogate a wounded prisoner without a physician present, as per the mordesh-human accord.

The broken, injured man turned his head away from his captors, trying to avert his eyes from the powerful halogen light strung maddeningly bright overhead. It was the only thing he could do, for anything part-way beneath his neck was numb. Gone. Dead. "I... I am ICI. I will not give in to the likes of you!" He croaked. He would have gritted his teeth if he could, but again; most of them were in a grisly pile hanging out by Formaldehyde's elbow.

"Is that so?" Ekaterine asked of him, looming above and directing the whole 'interrogation' session. She was not one to get her own hands dirty personally – that was the eager lot of the colleague she had working by her side.

Sucking in a stalwart breath the cassian barked his next few words up into their faces. "I would gladly _die_ before I relinquish my secrets to you ghoulish freaks, as Bronos is my witness!"

Ekaterine pondered those words thoughtfully, but soon she smiled. It was Formaldehyde who spoke up first however, for his thoughts did not differ much from her own. He set the pliers down on the table and picked up a surgical knife instead. "You misunderstand, my paralyzed patient. You are under the assumption that we will allow death to swallow you swiftly when that is simply not the case. We mordesh are the disciples of death and we will not allow the nothingness to demand its due until you divulge all details of the Dominion's detestable doings."

"If you cannot cooperate," Ekaterine added, idly inspecting her nails, "we shall see to it that you will live on for as long as it requires, though it will not be a painless existence. Quite the opposite, really. Do dwell on that. Attending surgeon, with your blessing…"

The young surgeon leaned against the wall and nodded at the Black Hoods members in a bored fashion. This was just a run-of-the-mill workday for her. She had seen it all before. "Go ahead." She said.

And so his screams echoed throughout the enclave until his voice was hoarse and almost gone.

The two agents descended like spiders onto their task; emissaries of the Widow that they were. The tall mordesh with the silver hair performed the… 'incentives' under the female one's guiding direction, but he was not merely an autonomous worker, no, he cooked up further terrible torments in the brief rest periods when Ekaterine Kasavin bent forward like the subtle twist of a willow bough, ready to record the ICI operative's final confession upon the datachron proffered in her hand.

"Why were you in Thayd?" She would ask, clearly and without emotion. "Tell me of the whereabouts of your base. What is the empire plotting?"

Most times the spy managed to dredge up enough saliva to spit blood into her face, causing her to wrinkle her elegant nose slightly and pull back to wipe it away, taking that as an answer and motioning for the torture to begin anew.

Agent Formaldehyde attempted to pull more teeth at first, but the cassian obstinately pursed his bleeding lips and turned his head away. Unperturbed, the mordesh stalker took the scalpel he had been fingering earlier and carved a gaping hole through the cheek carelessly presented to him, holding the man's mostly toothless mouth closed with his fingers and his palm, black nails digging into the highborn's face and partially muffling his screams of agony as he pried the rest of the man's dental work out from the angry-looking wound.

When he tired of that and no confession was forthcoming (and he had run out of things to pull out) Formaldehyde offered the spy a slight reprieve from his immediate pain, propping his body up on the table so the head on a stick could watch him drive rail-spikes between the major arteries in his legs and lever off his finely manicured fingernails, one by one.

The cassian sobbed. He could not feel it, but that was just the point; he _should_ have felt it. Could not stand. Could not walk. Couldn't even quirk a finger in response; a total prisoner of war. Now all he could do was watch in horror as the red stains spread out across his clothing and skin.

Eventually he began to beg deliriously for freedom, or if not that, then death. This was not what the Black Hoods wished to hear and so they reminded him of their terms by taking half of his eyesight; dragging a long razor across the perfect orb of his eyeball until it deflated in the socket, divulging its delicate jelly down the spy's pale cheekbones.

"Let me die!" He wailed, tears streaming down his face and mixing with his blood, sweat and other unmentionables.

"Are you a cassian member of a mechari Junction?" Formaldehyde asked him plainly, sterilizing the razor with a heated flame to prepare for the second cut, one that would doom his quarry to total darkness. "Has an ICI Junction been established near Thayd?"

"Please! Stop the pain! _The pain_!"

Ekaterine this time. Her sensible, cool voice seemed to be a contrast to the way Formaldehyde's was heating up. "Is that where you were buzzing to, little Dominion fly?"

"I want to go home! **_I can't_**!" He had started to sound like a child. A frightened little boy.

The female mordesh hesitated, but only briefly. Just as their prey was ICI so too did she wear the Black Hood, even if it was only metaphorical at the moment. Still, her tone softened, almost in a maternal manner. "You can. Tell us all we wish to hear. Then you may return home."

Formaldehyde shot her a sideways glance. His hands were coated in blood, chunks and gristle almost an inch or two up his wrists, nearly staining his sleeves. "Eka…" He warned. It was not wise to go about making promises one couldn't keep.

"Worry not, Nikolai." She said back to him, finding her way again. "There is comfort and painless repose in death. I am sure one would consider it 'home' in such a way. We have all yearned for it at one point, as well you know."

He nodded. She spoke truth, after all. "My heart weeps for this brainless buffoon, but I will do what must be done. I will break him." He was good at what he did and he could not lie to himself and say that he didn't enjoy it a little, but part of him still hated it; hated doing it. It wound him all up inside.

"Please…" The spy wept one more time, though this time his tears were soft and quiet from utter exhaustion. "I… let me go. Please. I have a… wife and family. Please… I have to see them again… _Please_!"

Ekaterine and Formaldehyde stared at him, but the former saw it as something of an opportunity. She grabbed him by a fistful of his long, bark-brown hair. "Then confess!" She hissed, rifling around for his breaking point. "Tell me everything! Do not prolong your pain, for your family's sake!"

"Eka!" Formaldehyde said again. He seemed alarmed and perhaps uneasy, likely from failing to anticipate her actions. "I don't think-"

"I can't die without seeing her again!" The cassian wailed.

She shook the man briskly. They were almost there! "And you will _die_ shortly if you do not speak!"

The highborn was nearly hiccupping on his tears. His breaths were short and raspy. He actually had a suicide pill thereabouts on his person, but there was no chance he'd be able to fumble with his fingers over it now. He had never even _conceived_ of needing to take it either, because…

"M-My wife… Alana… we were expecting children soon. I was going to be a fuh-father… and they were going to be beautiful, cherubs from on high, indeed… I can't die yet! Not yet…"

"Eka." Formaldehyde repeated, almost desperately talking over him.

"I'm so close…" Ekaterine whispered near inaudibly to herself, then with both graceful, long-fingered hands she cradled the suffering man's face closer to hers. "Where are you stationed, father-to-be?"

"Whoa nelly, hey there. This is getting' kinda awkward." The surgeon interrupted as she stood from her slouch against the wall, extending an arm to intercept the other woman. The other mordesh who had been doing all the torturing didn't look too well either, he was going kind of pale somehow despite the dark-purple skin.

The Dominion spy sucked in one final breath. "I want to see my children born! Please, let me go bac-"

**_-shunk-_**

He tensed abruptly and finished that sentence with a gasp and a gurgle. Blood began to bubble up from his lips and throat, spilling out between the hole in his cheek too. His eyes were wide, showing altogether too much white. He tried to take another breath but he couldn't. Something was stopping him. Ekaterine and the Exile woman turned to regard the source of the problem.

As the highborn's eye rolled back into his head and he slumped against the table when Ekaterine let go of his hair, the spy might have taken solace in the fact that he had died instantly, painlessly, and dwelling hard and passionately over the ones he had loved. The foot-long knife sticking out of his chest and pinning him against the table may have been another matter entirely, however. It had pierced his heart so neat and clean that he may as well have been a flitterfly pinned by a steady-handed entomologist. A perfect hand, with perfect accuracy…

The two women in the room turned to regard the culprit. Indeed, he even still had his bloodied hand wrapped around the grip of the primitive weapon.

He released it promptly, pulling back. Formaldehyde looked like a dawngrazer caught in the bright headlights of a grinder. He had been in perfect control earlier and even enjoying himself a little, but the sudden shift in his polarity and composure was downright baffling. He was almost on the verge of panic.

"Agent Formaldehyde," Ekaterine demanded with all professional sternness, even if she did not quite feel it within, "what have you done?"

Their hard-won captive was dead with his secrets unspoken, that answer was as clear as could be, but Formaldehyde took a tentative step back as though he were edging away from a primal and shook his head sadly at his colleague. "I… I am sorry, Eka. I just- I must- I must move from this room right now. Find forgiveness, please."

Before the others could react to those words made between short, shallow breaths the mordesh stalker turned tail and walked quickly out of the room – almost running really – no, scratch that, he _did_ run actually, as though he were escaping from some great anxiety or fear. He yanked the door open without much finesse and it swung closed behind him; marked by a bloody handprint to show the path he had taken.

This time Ekaterine spoke as his friend and not as a fellow, morbid Black Hood. "Nikolai!" She called after him in confusion as he drew away from her, then she hesitated just long enough to turn to the surgeon standing just as baffled by her side. "Stay here and mind the body. I will return."

The woman nodded. It gave a good opportunity to rifle through the cadaver's pockets while no one was looking.

So Ekaterine took after him right away, smearing the handprint on the door as she grasped the door-handle with her own fingers. "Nikolai, wait!" She cried as she disappeared as well. He had murdered their prey prematurely, and he would have to answer to the Widow for that soon enough, but until then…

He was going to have to deal with _her_, first.


End file.
